This is an open and unfiltered diary-style journal
on the life of James Robert Smith.
This blog will contain sometimes graphic experiences (both beautiful and ugly),
sometimes stark insight, and all honest and factual documentation of dreams, diet, activity, and thoughts.

This hot scorching heat is becoming redundant—my left arm, the driver’s arm, is constantly exposed to the sun’s rays. To prevent getting drivers arm tan I raise my arm out of harm’s way.

My throat pain seems to be residing.

During the slow periods, Ling gives me the task of snapping the ends off snow peas, a whole box of them.

Getting deep into this third DOOM novel. I really appreciate the effort the authors put into the details on the story of DOOM. They’ve found a way to take a classic simple shoot’em up RPG game and create an epic and realistic end of the world novel. I like this excerpt:

“The last time I saw Rita, we argued about anything and everything. Nothing was too trivial. After she exhausted the subject of my emotional failings, there remained the cosmic threat of my snoring. She failed to convince me that my snoring was on a scale with an army of zombies shuffling through the old community cemetery.

Somehow I had a last shred of feeling for her. When I reached out to touch her for the last time, she screamed that I was never to touch her again without permission.

I stormed out of there, leaving the next move to her. Here was the world coming to an end, and we couldn’t take a break from our own stupid soap opera…”

One of the delivery drivers from another Chinese restaurant in the Haygood area brings in a bag of food, by order of Ling, who knows the people from the other restaurant pretty well. Ling shows me what’s inside: plastic tubs of soup. It’s a clear white fungus soup with these orange raisin-like things, served cold—it’s not even on the menu. He tries to play charades with me by gesturing the slashing of his arm, which he meant to signify blood. He pronounces it, “Buuud”. All that to say, this soup lowers your blood pressure. Ican tell he loves the art of being a Chinese chef because whenever I ask him questions pertaining to any of the dishes he smiles and takes the time to do his best at explaining everything. He gives me a small portion of it to take home.

Driving down Laskin Road—waiting at a stoplight. A spritely girl in a yellow Volkswagen Beetle shouts out to me, “Hey baby!”

I wave awkwardly in response, “Hi!”

“How you doing?”

Our light turns green. I just smile and say, “I’m doing great!”

I strongly believe that love is a choice. Otherwise we would all be slaves to our feelings, which we all know can be wavering and fickle. Love was created in this way for a reason, or theologically speaking, love has always been and never had a beginning or an end. Love is eternal. And if you choose to experience it you will enter into a godly realm—the closest to the image of God you can mirror. This is your origin. Love.

I give in to the temptation of buying an Oreo blizzard. The cold sweet treat cools the inside of my body as if I just ate a bag of ice.

Finally home—enjoying a crisp Miller High Life. I’ve found myself desiring beer after a long hard day’s work—the workingman’s way of relaxation.

Elliott, James, and Angel stop by to grab a few freeze pops.

Playing Elliott in a game of foosball. “I haven’t played a challenging player in a while.” The stakes are high with the game point to both of our advantages. A quick brash shot from my goalie and it’s all over.

Margot loves True Blood and the third season comes out tomorrow, or rather at midnight. So I tag along with her to Wal-Mart. One of the employees there has a fresh box of the DVD’s open.

She eats cereal while I eat some leftover dinner—first episode on the TV.

DREAM: With Margot standing at the edge of a busy street—the cars speeding by. I’m very focused—looking for the gap in traffic so we can make our way across. “Okay, now cross when I say.” Finally the coast is clear. I run across encouraging her to hurry. “C’mon! Quick! Run!” For some reason she refuses to follow—displaying that notorious pouty face of hers. “Margot! Why? We don’t have time for this.” I quickly dart back over and drag her across the street just in time. We venture down the sidewalk. There’s an art show happening in this building. I pay the door girl and enter. Everyone is gathered around a TV that’s showcasing a short film or movie. I sit down on the couch next to Josiah. He snickers at something on the TV. Rocky is sitting across the way on another couch and attempts to get my attention, “Robert!” The whole room is quiet and focused on the TV. I don’t pay her any mind and give my direct attention to the TV out of respect for the event. She persists, “Robert!” I turn and sarcastically gaze in her direction with my hands on my hips. I guess she just wanted to say hi. “Okay, Rocky. I see you.”

Waking up around 11:30 a.m.

All day shift at China Wok.

MMM. Peaches from Stoney’s Produce—picking from the “Ugly” collection, which is half off.

Texting…

Me: “you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole world to me and i love you.”

Her: “Aw baby! I love you too….You’re the sweetest and I want to be with you forever.”

Buying a cup of Lemonade for 50 cents from some kids off Westminister in Emerald Point.

Margot sends me a picture of a magnet for sale with a statement that only confirms the beauty of our relationship:

Delivering an order in the Mayflower Apartment building on 34th street. The customer lives on the 14th floor. I tap the “14” button—noticing there is no button for “13”. The red LED screen in the elevator scrambles the floor numbers until I reach the 13th floor and it opens. What? Apparently, whoever planned the layout of this place decided they would identify the 13th floor as the 14th floor to avoid any superstitions. But technically this IS the 13th floor.

In the restaurant waiting for calls/orders to come in. The phone rings. I answer.

Me: “China Wok. May I help you?”

A young boy’s voice responds in an upset tone, “My mom just kicked me off my Xbox.”

Me: “Uh. Pick up or delivery?”

The kid persists to ask questions like, “Do you have dog?” and “Do you have duck?” and “Do you have Japanese food?”

I realize at this point this kid is either prank calling, which is likely, or just lonely and bored. He’s not laughing nor do I hear any friends in the background laughing. His phone personality is quite convincing. I play along and continue the conversation because there’s nothing else better to do.

Me: “No. We have Chinese food.”

He asks me if I’ve ever been robbed before, which I haven’t, at least on the job. I answer all his questions directly and without any sign of annoyance. Maybe this throws him off or maybe it eggs him on.

Kid: “Do yall teach karate?”

Me: “No. We sell Chinese food.”

Kid: “I thought all Chinese knew karate.”

Me: “That’s just a stereotype.”

Kid: “Are you calling me racist?”

Me: “No. I’m just saying you can’t assume all Chinese people know karate because it’s a stereotype.”

[Lull]

Me: “Well, hey look I gotta get back to work. I’m sorry about your Xbox…”

All of a sudden he switches back to upset mode, “It’s serious, man!”

Me: “I know I bet it is…”

He hangs up.

A lady waiting for her food overheard my phone convo. She describes to me a burglary experience she had while living in New York City. She surprised herself by hitting the intruder pretty hard in the chest. We chat about fight or flight situations and how it’s important to plan out in your head what you would do in scenarios like that. That way when it really does happen you won’t be scared stiff and make sloppy reactions.

Finally off work and cooking dinner.

A text from my queen: “I’m cravin you soo hard right now. I want you inside me. Last night was so good.”

Driving through Oakshire Apartments, a black lady huddled up with a group of other people notices the color of my shirt and my rims and yells out, “Hey! His shirt matches his tires.” I didn’t plan that.

Putting on National Geographic’s Is It Real? series, an episode on crop circles. Within the first minute I’m all over her—pausing Netflix. I mean, she’s lying there half-naked and her lovin’ is all for my taking. You’re so good, darling. We don’t share even one kiss on the lips for fear of her contracting my conjunctivitis. But despite, we still know how to love each other.

DREAM: I’ve been invited to an event called The Fourth Eye Summit, which dabbles in the concept of the mystical third eye in all of us that allows one to see beyond space-time, otherwise physically known as the pineal gland located in the brain. At this gathering we all dip into a running river or moat that perimeters an ancient Indian building. The water is just deep enough to allow only my head to peek out—my body completely enveloped in the dark water. I follow the group as we steadily walk forward, slowly encircling the Indian building. Supposedly in this state of constant flow you will allow visibility to the fourth eye….

Waking up next to her. It’s just after 11 a.m. and it’s extremely difficult to keep my eyes open and alert.

Breakfast: Egg and Cheese Burrito from Sonic. Orange Juice. Peaches.

All day shift at China Wok.

Daytime traffic in Virginia Beach sucks. I feel stressed and claustrophobic. I find myself missing the newspaper route where I was the only one on the road at night with no rules. I would feel in control and free.

Lunch: Mixed Nuts. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Observing all the cars I come across…Suburban…Jeep Cherokee…Honda Civic…Toyota Pickup Truck…Volvo Station Wagon…Volvos! Good Lord! Why are there so many Volvos on the road?

Exasperated by the repetitive Speed Bumps from Hell in the Hilltop Shopping Plaza.

Finally after 11 hours of work I pull up into my parking spot in front of the house. James is standing there waiting for me.

“James, you don’t know how good it feels to be sitting on this couch and sipping on this Miller High Life.”

Rambling about the economy and living frugally. “It’s ridiculous! The American economy depends on the average American to be a stupid consumer. It’s a shame but that’s the way it is.”

Not feeling as achy anymore but my throat is still mildly sore. Also some yellow discharge is starting to develop in my left eye. Symptoms of Conjunctivitis (Pink Eye). Haven’t had that since I was a kid.

I’m all alone in the house tonight. Half the kids are on a road trip to California. The other half are just out of town for the weekend. It’s quiet and I like it. It’s a beautiful and strange feeling.

DREAM: I’ve just finished a dream but I’m still in the dream location, which is a bedroom. Margot is sitting on Lazy Boy chair upset with me because she walked in right at the end scene of the dream when Rachel and I were hugging. I describe the dream to Emily out loud so Margot can hear as well and try to understand. “So I’m in the hallway just out there attempting to pet Ambrotious on the head but of course he squints up and tries to bite me. Moses (my old cat) is there too but he kind of curls up and shrinks dramatically in size into a miniature black mouse in my hand. I enter the bedroom. Ambrotious follows and jumps up onto the bed. Realizing that he misses me and hasn’t seen me in a long time he stands up on his hind legs and places his front paws on my shoulders as if he is about to embrace me. I reach my arms around and respond with a firm hug, ‘Aw, kitty. I’ve missed you, too!’ The fur on his body gives me shivers. I hear him talk back, ‘I love you and I care about you.’ I look up and it’s not Ambrotious anymore. It’s Rachel.” And this is about the time Margot walked in. She’s thoroughly upset. I try to convince her, “It’s only a dream, baby!” But despite, she still feels abandoned. “Listen to me!” I grab her arms and squeeze them to align her focus, “IT WAS A DREAM!”

Rehearsing songs with Chris at the storage unit—preparing to track drums in the studio soon.

Snacking on a Carrot and Canned Artichoke Hearts.

Adventures with James on the Friend’s School playground. While we’re shooting hoops a stray cat meows it’s way towards us and allows some petting action. It’s an orange tabby, just like Ambrotious.

Swinging on the rope swing. James tries to show me the flying technique he uses in his dreams which involves leaning your body forward almost completely face down. I show him my technique of running and flapping your arms as fast as you can. These two motorcycle dudes ride right up to the sidewalk where our longboard and scooter sit perched up on the picnic table. It’s hard to see what’s going on before it’s too late. One of them snatches up our modes of transportation. “Hey!” They can’t hear me from the revving of their bike motors. I run around the corner and catch up with an older white guy who works here at the school—he’s carrying my longboard. I guess the motorcycle dude passed it along. I don’t know why. “Hey! That’s mine.” He hands it over and informs us that the cops are patrolling this area and to be careful. So much for the scooter, I guess. We found that on the street anyway so not too much of a loss. James and I take the shortcut back—climbing over the fence. He pulls a hamstring or something in the process. He tends to have bad luck every time we go over that fence.

Back at the house, Jamil and his sister are here. Sharing some Jell-O James made earlier today—The Beatles on the record player. Rachel stops by—her and James are lounging on the kitchen floor with bags of ice on their respective wounds together.

Concocting an Oat Bran Blueberry Cookie recipe. Eating a few with Milk.

The queen loves it when I make her hot oat bran cereal with blueberries so I make sure to bring a batch of these cookies to her place. She texted me earlier that “It would be nice to wake up to you again.” So I’m making sure that happens. When I arrive she’s too sleepy. Tucking her in.

Feeling mildly achy throughout my whole body. I’ve been experiencing this off and on the past three days. Taking some Tylenol.

Sometime after noon I’m waking up in her soft bed—the power hasn’t come on yet here. Watching her get dressed and put on make up. “Look at you. So sexy!”

Sitting down at Panera eating a French Toast Bagel with Butter and drinking Vitamin Water mixed with Orange Juice. She’s on the phone with her mom discussing some bitter family issues while I read the news.

Margot’s over here at the house because her neighborhood is still without power. She needs the blow dryer to do her hair. And she likes spending the night with me. Duh.

Lying on the bed and chatting. I bring up a few past incidents that I tend to have on my mind every now and then. The Dark Ages. Just wanted to clear some things up and explain that I’m still sensitive about her staying in contact with past lovers. I don’t think it’s appropriate. Not that it’s been any kind of issue but last week a name was brought up and some information regarding that name, and it was just a bad egg. We both got sensitive about it. It takes a long time to securely separate events from your memory. I mean, really nothing will ever leave your memory unless you develop some sort of amnesia, and even then it’s still there somewhere rotting in your brain. You can forgive but don’t think for one second you’ll forget. The trick is to replace that bad memory with an innumerous amount of better ones and eventually, that rotting egg of a memory file will be buried away so deep it will never see the light of day.

Longboarding to Kmart in the middle of the night for some Gorilla glue

DREAM: Just outside my townhome in Chanticleer. It’s nighttime. There’s a trailer with an awning set up. I watch James walk underneath it as the awning accidently falls down hitting his face. He slips out from behind it like nothing happened. I’ve got a bass guitar in hand and begin a two-note pop progression. Not sure where the amp is but I can hear the rumbling bass tone. A few other house friends are around and attempt to play along with their own instruments. It’s like we’re a band. But I suddenly realize it’s after midnight and we shouldn’t be loud in the neighborhood for fear of getting a noise violation. The scene switches. We’re all in a car driving to another part of the neighborhood. We enter an unfamiliar court. In the center of the median is a pile of rubble and debris from an old building, and discarded junk from other people. I spot a few pictures that I think would fit in our house. I get out the car. A cop approaches and tells us to leave. We’re set on staying. The cop then asks me questions about the bottle I’m holding and if it’s beer.

Me: “No officer, this is a bottle of juice. See!”

Cop: “Well, why don’t you go to 7-11 and get me one. Now get out of here!”

Something bad just happened here in the neighborhood.

Me: “Excuse me, what happened here? Did somebody get killed?”

Cop: “Yeah, it’s pretty bad.”

Me: “Like murder?”

Cop: “Yeah the dude strained himself.”

Awake after 1:40 p.m.

Breakfast: Everything Bagel with Cream Cheese. Orange Juice.

Business.

Emily comes over and we drive to Calum’s house in Croatan to audition for Stephanie’s film. Pulling up in the driveway, it’s a beautiful house. “I really like this blue color.” Upstairs they’ve got a green sheet hanging down behind two wooden stools with a camera set up in front. Emily and I perform our Eternal Sunshine scene, then a dry run through the actual script we’re auditioning for. Also, doing a few improv scenes, one of them involving a ferret dying. As soon as we’re done an incredibly strong wind picks up outside—big trees swaying and leaves shuffling and debris flying through the air. Standing out on the balcony experiencing the surreal moment of Mother Nature. “This is crazy!”

Back inside chit chatting about movies, time travel, and other things. Enjoying one of the cupcakes on the counter. Feeling confident about Emily and I’s interaction on camera.

The power is out all throughout Chanticleer.

It’s amazing what happens when there’s no electricity. You have no access to the internet. You have no access to basic appliances. The inside of the house becomes useless. You’re forced to leave and get outside. Humanity is back to square one.

Anthony and I go to Target. Inside the lights are dim because of the generator that’s in use. “I kind of expected it to be hectic in here but everything’s so calm and the people are quiet. There’s no music in here.” We complete our mission to buy a new basketball and head to The Friend’s School courts for some b-ball.

Back at the house, Anthony and Kevin are getting ready to leave on their trip across the country for California. Warm goodbye hugs and words are exchanged.

I’ve got to get out of here. I start driving. Coincidentally Margot is just getting out of work so we meet up at Thai Arroy.

Sitting across the table, she gives me the kissy sign. I playfully decline at first complaining about how far away she is, until she says this: “You’re supposed to want to cross mountains to kiss me.”

Dinner: Tom Yum Vegetable Soup. Chicken Pad Thai. Thai Iced Tea.

Margot and I drive over to Art and Roma’s place—they have power. James joins for a little bit. Playing a long game of Phase 10, which we never end up finishing. Jamil has an imported Hot Red Pepper Russian vodka—taking a few shots together, “Kampei!”

Art has a pool table in his garage. He schools me in a few rounds.

Still no electricity at my house. Margot takes me to her home, where we assumed the power might be on but to our dismay and, well, my expectation, is not on at all. But the neighbors have a generator going—able to smooch off their internet—can hear the loud hum through the windows.

She’s excited about her little chargeable mushroom light she purchased from Target. It’s lighting up her bedroom nicely.

DREAM: Many years have passed and I’m revisiting The House of 1623. Walking up on the porch. I look in through the window to find some of the belongings and stuff in the same exact place we left them when we moved out. There are cobwebs and dust and dirt everywhere. The walls of the house have rotted. It’s almost as if nobody ever rented the place out after we left. Talking with some of the people I’m with, baffled with the discovery, “I don’t think anybody lived here after us!” I pick up a toy piano with a colored keyboard and attempt to play it…

Waking up around 11 a.m.

Breakfast: Everything Bagel with Cream Cheese. Orange Juice. Zinc.

Full day China Wok shift.

Facing the hot day—a 20-minute rain session is refreshing.

Quick break at the house—slurping up delicious Watermelon.

No orders for a while. Napping.

Lunch: Mixed Nuts. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Vitamin Water.

Reading here and there—Adbusters Magazine—the third DOOM novel.

My shift is coming to a close. A small lightening storm passes over and strangely, sparks a slew of orders to come in for the last hour. The lightening has some weird effect to induce cravings for Chinese food.

Delivering an order to room 529 at The Holiday Inn. Nobody’s in the room. Two girls get off the elevator apologizing for making me wait. They wanted to watch the lightening on the beach. “Totally understandable,” I say. I get a whiff of bud as they brush past.

Later on, I get word they didn’t receive forks to eat with. I promise to bring them some when I finish up.

Delivering an order on Bartow Place near Oceana. The customer’s final words are, “Prish”, which is obviously short for “appreciate it”. Never heard that before.

Heading back to the hotel. I bring the forks and my dinner. Deciding to chill out with the two strangers for a while. Sitting on the balcony—light ocean breeze in the air—eating Vegetable Lo Mein and sipping on a Miller High Life. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever done this. It’s kind of cool to actually hang out with the customers I deliver to.” They’re from Philly on a random vacation for a few days. Striking up a conversation about what I do (my life) and what they do. The younger of the two, wearing a Led Zeppelin T, pulls out a really nice Sony SLR camera—she wants to have her own photography studio one day. We make fun of the kids across the way on the opposite balcony that, according to them, are on some kind of senior trip and are ordered to have lights out after midnight. They see me off and I head home.

About to put a load of clothes in the wash and annoyed to find someone else’s load already in there, “Ugh! This is just like the other house. The wash is constantly going!”

Anthony responds with something comic.

Me: “Anthony, guess how many times I wash clothes?”

Him: “Twice a year.”

Me: “Exactly. And this is the second time.”

Margot shows up. For old times sake I bring up the idea to throw down some sexy time at the storage unit. On the way there there’s some arguing, mostly me going off on a rant reacting to her bad attitude towards something insignificant that happened earlier at the house involving me not letting her use a marker. It’s silly really. But like always there’s a deeper underlying reason this kind of thing happens. So I talk. And want her to talk. I just want to know why.

Me: “We’re two people that love each other. And out of everyone that I know you’re the person who I want to understand me the most. You have the highest priority. It’s the same for you with me….This is what a relationship is about! Communication and understanding.” I’m such a preacher.

Finally, we settle down and have sex. She’s so good and satisfying. And I love her. She’s the best.

Jokingly I retort, “Now I have to write about this. Stop giving me things to write about. I just want to have a bland day for once.”

My eyes are glued shut. It’s after 9 a.m. and she’s waking me up. Driving her to work then heading home for a few hours until I have to be at my job.

Breakfast: Everything Bagel with Cream Cheese. Orange Juice. Zinc.

Full day shift at China Wok.

Texting…

Me: “i love you and i want to be with you but not with the monster you become when you drink.”

Her: “I feel bad about this and I don’t think you deserve that. I love you but I don’t think this is as big a problem as you’re making it seem.”

Delivering here and there all the while that HOT. MUGGY. SUN. is seeping through every pore in my body.

Chugging down an Honest Ade Orange Mangosteen.

If you think you’ve found perfect beauty, you have every right as an imperfect human to be skeptical.

Quick break at the house. Cutting up and enjoying one of the best Watermelons—crisp, juicy, sweet. I’ve been waiting for the perfect one to start off the summer right and here it is. I think of my mom every time I eat watermelon.

Lunch: Mixed Nuts. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

This day is long. It’s not incredibly busy but the orders are consistent enough to keep me going. Over a hundred and thirty miles of driving. Phew.

Rehearsing a scene from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind with Emily. We’ll be performing it at an audition for Stephanie’s film. I don’t have much acting experience but it’s a fun process orchestrating the lines and gestures trying to get the most out of the moment. After a few run-throughs we invite Kelley, James, and Wesley to watch us. Kelley, a little tipsy off Vodka, gives us a thorough critique on our portrayal of the scene.

It’s incredibly hot in my room—The AC is still not working properly, well, really not at all.

Margot shows up—recapping last night and my perspective in a professional manner. She’s taking it in—listening and being apologetic, at least in expression. I can tell she really understands the effects of these drunken episodes. It’s not always negative. There are the sweet and silly moments to laugh at. The problem is it’s too easy to set her off. And I just don’t know how to handle it. We point this out in our conversation. “I really want to film you sometimes so you can literally see yourself.” Even though this is the hot topic of the night, our interaction is at a homeostasis, the way I like it and wish it to stay. She’s lovable this way. My lovely lovah baby.

“I want to eat cereal but we have no milk. Get me some milk please.”

She’s the best because that’s exactly what she does and thoughtfully includes a mango.

I’m a little disturbed about the conversation I had with her last night. I feel like she just doesn’t have the ability to see past herself. She’s so connected to the past—it affects her to such an extent she literally doesn’t know how to forgive. I like to think myself as having that ability for a person I love very dearly. And I know she loves me very dearly. I place such an importance on the present moment and try to keep her focus on the now rather than what’s already happened………But man, we all deal with this attachment to the past. It just goes to prove the non-existence of time—time being one big moment. Imagine how overwhelming that feels, everything in your life happening all at once, all in one big cosmic second. How is a person supposed to react to all these diverse experiences? There is really only one appropriate reaction to the cosmic second: “ACCEPT WHAT IS” All other emotions associated with it should just be temporary.

Delivering an order on Willow Oak Circle off Great Neck. A little girl walking past the front of my car recognizes the small plastic medallion, “Hello Kitty!”

An Asian lady walks into the restaurant with a father and son. The kid’s got on an interesting outfit: baggy army pants, boots, suspenders, and a white t-shirt with the symbol “SS”. The dad matches well. The Asian lady is quiet and can’t seem to decide what to order. The man is getting impatient, “I want to get her back home before the rapture happens!” Nothing is ordered and eventually they leave. The father marches out the door announcing to his family, “I’m going back to Germany!”

I catch Zana on the side of the road again walking by the trailer park off Virginia Beach Blvd. She’s wearing a long blue cloudy dress and is curiously picking something off the ground.

The boys and I go to Retro Café at the beach. Performing live drums alongside Eric and Gabe. This place is loud and the floors are sticky with permanent alcohol stains. It’s hard to hear the tracks but Eric and I slam it hard anyway. A lot of friends here—Jamil shows up with Anna and his sister.

After the show, getting some fresh air outside the bar. The Strip is littered with Virginia Beach night creatures. Discussing with Anthony the difference between the Jewish Mother show and this one. There’s a different vibe of people here on the beach. “Everybody here focuses on looking cool and they’re agro!” Kevin runs around the corner and witness a mob of people beat somebody up in the street. He’s so stoked about the experience and tells anyone he can.

Margot’s at Harpoon Larry’s waiting for me to be done here. She’s really drunk so I pick her up. Sober me with Anthony, Richie, a drunk Kevin, and a drunk Margot all in the car at once, this has the potential to be bad. And so it begins. She opens up a hailstorm of hate towards Richie and nothing is gonna stop her. There’s no changing the subject. The negative energy is overwhelming and it cannot be fought against. Arriving at the house, I bring her upstairs to my room—trying to be loving and get her mind off it but she’s become the most unlovable monster I’ve ever seen. She won’t let me touch her. She won’t let me take care of her. She’s ruthless. This ungodly force has taken her captive and tries desperately to take me down with it. I almost lose my patience during many moments.

Me: “Baby, just lay down and sleep here.”

Her: “How come no one is backing me up?”

Me: “Margot, forget about it! Just lay down and relax.”

Her: “NO! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! TAKE ME HOME!”

She has to open tomorrow and I offer to take her home in the morning but I should’ve learned by now. Don’t argue against her will. After futile attempts to keep her here I give up and we start driving. She’s bawling her eyes out. She’s stressed herself out so much over nothing—hyperventilating—heavy breathing. Her own personal hell has been unleashed. Today is the end of the world for her. “Baby, relax. Please! I love you. I don’t like seeing you like this.”

Quick stop at the storage unit to drop off the equipment then straight to her house in Bay Colony. On the drive she keeps repeating, “You’re gonna go away. You’re gonna go away!” “Baby, I’m not going anywhere. I’m gonna take care of you.” The hate meter’s gone down but now the insecure meter goes up. I take her inside. I hold her as tight as I can in her big comfy bed. Black smears on her face from the mash-up of tears and make-up—wiping them off with tissues. “Baby, you see? I’m staying right here with you.” She’s finally calmed down a lot, like a little baby. Her body’s shaking nervously. You’re safe here my darling. Later on, we instigate a rather lengthy and intense lovemaking session.

DREAM: There’s special news coverage, maybe it’s underground news coverage, of President Obama attending a pool party. He’s not supposed to be there, or a lot of people just disapprove of him going to such a juvenile event, I guess because of the drinking that’s going on. There are frat boys everywhere and other college-age kids partying. I look over at our president—he’s wearing a pair of Speedo’s but with red shorts underneath. He’s smiling, completely satisfied and ready to have a good time.

Waking up just before 3 p.m.

Breakfast: Plain Bagel with Cream Cheese. Orange Juice. Zinc.

Driving to Key West, a locksmith over on Holland Road to get a doorknob re-keyed. This place is much cheaper than a standard locksmith that comes to you. As I’m waiting—checking out all the old antique locks and keys they have in the display counter.

Stopping by Car Max, where Skippy works to get some screws for my license plates.

Driving on First Colonial just past the overpass of 264. I spot Zana, the British speaking lady I ran into about 3 weeks ago, on the side of the road picking up litter off the grass and putting it into a garbage bag. I can tell it’s her because of that big bright smile. I’m tempted to stop and say hello but I’m in a hurry.

Back home. Changing the doorknob to my room.

Eating Strawberry Rhubarb Pie.

Cleaning up and doing chores.

At the storage unit rehearsing with Gabe for tomorrow’s gig at Club Retro down at the beach—going over tracks—practicing beats on the drums.

Back home. Cooking dinner in the kitchen while all the kids are getting hyped up over the alleged rapture that’s supposed to be happening at 2 a.m. on May 21, which is right now. Nothing happens. We’re still here.

Dinner: Sun-dried Tomato Chicken. Fettucini Tortellini. Broccoli.

Anthony shows me the photos that were taken of him and Kelley from a wedding they went to earlier today. [see above photo]

“Anthony, look at her eyelashes. That’s probably one of those things you like about her.”

Margot’s sending me persistent texts in ALL CAPS about coming over and HAVING SEX.

She’s here. After a 25-minute squabble of seeing the side to her that I don’t like, she eventually starts showing her dominant and affectionate side, my favorite side. Invigorating sex ensues. Feeling a little more aggressive—biting a little harder. I hate feeling out of control, especially with her. And in times of ecstasy I’m able to control her nervous system and create pleasure where sour words once ruled our moments. Our relationship sometimes is like a piece of Warhead candy. You have to endure the sourness on the outside to enjoy the sweetness on the inside. And after you’ve conquered one moment you know what you’re up against next time and you can assure yourself the sweetness is coming.

My boss had fired one of our veteran drivers a few weeks ago and today she fired another one over something insignificant. I hope I’m not next.

Eating Mango with Strawberry Yogurt.

Pulling up to the restaurant after a few deliveries, a man gets out of his car and comments on my purple rims, “Those are some alien wheels.” I laugh out loud in response.

Delivering to an old lady with walker in hand. Her apartment smells like bird food but no sign of a bird. I notice three cakes and pies placed on the dining room table.

Me: “Ooo. Tasty treats.”

Her: “They’re not real.”

In shock. Because they even have slices missing to make it more genuine.

Her: “I don’t like to bake.”

Back home. Kelley and Anthony are being their usual violent playful selves.

Elliott stops by for a visit.

Gathering all the vegetables we have in the fridge and making an experimental stir-fry dish with rice. Listing the array of spices and ingredients would not explain this dish the proper way. Carmen and Kevin seemed to like it enough.

Margot’s here. Such a beauty and cutie.

Eating some Strawberry Rhubarb Pie with Milk.

Anthony follows my lead and pours his own glass of milk but using a wine glass.

“Only Anthony would drink milk out of a wine glass and water out of a measuring cup!”

Becca, Ken, and a guy named Gordon stop by. Becca’s cutting my hair as Anthony and Ken jam out on the guitar. “It’s like a mariachi band at a Spanish restaurant or something. My entertainers.”

A few of us gather at the Friends School playground—enjoying the rope swing and the crisp cool night air.

DREAM: Waiting on an island with a few friends, mostly all the people that I live with like Josh, Carmen, Anthony, Dustin, and Kevin. The sky has a dark grey hue to it, cloudy and moody—the ocean spread out before us. There’s no shore though, more like a ledge that just drops off. All of a sudden a red Mustang drives up close to the edge. It’s able to maneuver like a boat. There two people in it with hunky black guns. I jump into the water, which is like 3-foot deep. They have the guns aimed right at me. I attempt to point them away but it’s very difficult. Eventually, I get a hold of one, aim it into the sky, and pull the trigger. No bullets. It’s a fake. The hostility of the guys in the car is no longer there. Back on the beach. Carmen is acting hostile towards the group and myself. I’m holding one of our black steak knives from the kitchen, which Carmen was holding a second ago. With the knife up to her neck I threaten her, “Look Carmen! You have to stop.” Then pretending to cut her throat I say, “This is better for the group. We have no choice.”

Unrelated I found a piece of writing on hoarding: http://www.zyra.net/hoarders.htm Of course I immediately think of Kenneth. He’s the perfect example of it getting out of hand. I don’t consider myself a hoarder in that sense. I do have some of these qualities the article talks about but I think I’m more of a conservative hoarder. You have to keep in mind your living condition and the amount of space you have available for collecting. It’s smart to hold on to something you know will be useful in the future but too many material things can create unneeded stress in your life.

The throws of material possessions are addressed by Jesus: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:19-21)

And Buddha: The second Noble Truth states that the origin of suffering is attachment, “Because the objects of our attachment are transient, their loss is inevitable, thus suffering will necessarily follow.”

Margot drops in after a little night of drinking. I’m sitting on the couch chowing down slowly on my food while she talks about how sleepy she is.

Carmen describes how she got multiple bruises on her legs from falling off her bike the other day.

Not long after, Margot decides it’s time to go home and exits in a pouty haste—mood completely switched. Meeting her by the driver’s side door. She’s acting bitter and has an attitude for some reason. After realizing that it’s the alcohol that’s opened up this impatient unbecoming side to her, I use manipulative tactics to persuade her to sleep over. Mainly I just have to be forthcoming and, for lack of better term, forceful, but in a sweet way.

After she runs up to my room, I acknowledge everyone inside, “You got to know how to work them.”

She shouts out from upstairs, “Shut up!”

I join her in bed for a little bit while she rants on about the fake spider infestation in the house, “No spiders! Keep the spiders away from me!”

Found an LOL SPIDERS website and decided to make my own just for her. [see above].

DREAM: I am one of two volunteers required to stand in an enclosed 4-foot-deep water tank with a dome-like roof while being observed by scientists. While standing I’m supposed to be flipped a certain amount of times. The room is dark with a shade of blue light glimmering all around. As I’m preparing for the experiment I watch a man sitting in a wooden school desk start yapping away in an auctioneer’s voice, but its talk radio. I assume this is being broadcasted. I’m thirsty but it’s understood the water has chlorine in it so I can’t drink it.

Waking up just after 11 a.m.

Breakfast: Organic Strawberry Pop Tart. Orange Juice.

Starting my 10-shift at China Wok.

Text conversation with Margot…

Her: “WTF WAS TRYING TO GO BACK TO SLEEP AND FELT SOMETHING ON MY ARM! THOUGHT IT WAS HAIR BUT IT WAS A FUCKING SPIDER CRAWLING TOWARDS MY FACE. A FUCKING SPIDER THAT YOU LIKE HAVING IN YOUR HOUSE. I’M KILLING THEM ALL. THEY ATTACKED FIRST. I’M SUPER PARANOID NOW.”

Me: “he just wanted ur affection. the average human swallows 7 spiders in their sleep throughout a lifetime.”

Her: “That doesn’t make it ok for it to happen. ESPECIALLY not to me.”

Me: “which spider was it? the tiny black fury one?”

Her: “No it had a small body and long skinny legs. And I think it might’ve jumped off me before I flicked it off. HE WAS COMING TO GET INSIDE MY EAR AND LAY EGGS.”

Me: “oh that’s the nice one. just a daddy long leg. he likes you and wants you to have his babies.”

Her: “It was not a daddy long leg. His legs were not that long. NO BABIES WITH SPIDERS ONLY YOU!”

Me: “if i had 8 legs would you still have babies with me?”

Her: “Only if you could make them go away”

Eating a Mango and an Avocado with Potato Chips.

Reading Adbusters while I wait for orders.

Satisfying my random craving for an Oreo Blizzard. Waiting at a stoplight holding the Blizzard in my hand and Nirvana cranked on the stereo. These two black girls pull up next to me in a big red truck. I hear laughing and giggling. I acknowledge them after turning the music down and they wave back. Earlier I remember seeing them in the restaurant waiting for their Chinese food. I guess they saw me running in and out, and found it humorous that I stopped at Dairy Queen while I was delivering.

The driving never stops. The driving never stops. The driving never stops.

Finally it stops. I’m home.

Carmen helps me make an Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato.

Honey Green Tea.

Joining the crowd downstairs. Of course, Twilight Zone is on, specifically “The Obsolete Man,” which according to Kevin is one of the best episodes, and he would know since he owns and has seen all of them. After seeing it I have to agree with him. One of the best.

DREAM: I’m at some kind of summer camp. The campground is so vast that I have a scooter to help me get to places. Something bad has happened—something apocalyptic and everyone’s gathering somewhere. I choose not to join up so urgently and stay behind.

I hear Rachel faintly just outside my door, “Robert. Dad. Robert.” She opens up and steps in to find me asleep. “Why are you guys always right?” I guess they predicted I’d be sleeping, which I am but obviously I’m awake now.

Waking up just after 3 p.m.

Breakfast: Plain Bagel with Peanut Butter and Honey. Orange Juice.

Google work.

Work at China Wok.

It’s fun to watch the pedestrians on Virginia Beach Blvd. I catch a black kid riding his bike, flailing his arms and spitting rhymes out loud with no care in the world if anyone hears him. Then, I spot Kenneth’s twin—no joke—more like Kenneth on steroids—tricked out in huge black skater jeans with chains hanging out, long hair, a cluster of necklaces and medallions—the most entertaining thing I’ve seen all day.

Rachel walks in with a bag of books on her head, figuratively speaking—the complex issues are a lot to bear. She sits on my lap like a child talking with a father or maybe Santa Claus? There are things that worry her and scare her. There are things that are precious to her. There are people that she loves. There are habits. But she is alive and full of light.

Me: “But that’s what life is all about. I mean, would you rather be lying in a bed for the rest of your life or have this? Conflict is what makes stories interesting.”

Eating a Mango. Making Rachel and the house a special concoction I call Cream of Honey Suckle, which is just Jasmine Tea with Coconut Milk and Honey/Brown Sugar.

Pita and Hummus.

Spying on Carmen and Margot discussing Animorphs and having girl talk.

As I was in the kitchen slaving away, Margot’s sitting in the brown chair and spouts out, “I’m bored! I’m going to bed.” “No you’re not!”

Attempting to cook a Lamb that was dumpster dove the other day with Mixed Vegetables. It turns out alright. The kids are loving it.

Kevin, talking about Josh, “But you dress like a vegetarian, or a Presbyterian!”

Going to the clubhouse provided by Chanticleer with Kevin, Josh, and few other friends. It’s in the middle of Linkhorn Bay off Birdneck—surrounded by a beautiful lake—the moon glowing behind the clouds—wild geese quietly floating—working out on the machines—swimming in the pool—breathing in the hot sauna air.

Eating Strawberry Yogurt and a Mango.

Pinball Locomotive practice in the dining room (Anthony’s band) along with Kevin on violin, Richie, and Rusty. Anthony really wants me to throw down some keys—I play the electric organ and a little bit of mandolin.

Dinner: Pita and Hummus. Persian Cucumbers and Green Peppers.

Becca stops by rocking her new car.

Corralling Josh, James, and Becca to go exploring on the grounds of Friends School down the street. Riding the Razor scooter. Entering through the back way in the cul-de-sac, hopping the fence. James rips his shorts pretty bad from the sharp edges at the top.

“Man, this place is incredible!” Both Josh and I have our shirts off—running around—being a kid—climbing the monkey bar dome as James and Becca pretend to be ferocious zombies jumping up and reaching for their victims. This playground has a unique character, built out of thick cedar wood, which gives off a fresh rich wood odor caused from the rain earlier today. Compared to all the modern playgrounds made out of cheap oily plastic, this place is a goldmine for us night creatures. I’ve always been more affectionate to the older parks. Holding on tight to the tall rope swing—swaying like a jungle boy—emitting animal noises of all sorts—being free.

Back home. Twilight Zone on six TV’s is undeniably a better experience than just one TV.

Eating a bowl of Frosted Shredded Wheat.

Google work.

"The human body has been cherished since time immemorial as an instrument of pleasure and an object of aesthetic delight. Our body is our most intimate possession. As the carrier of our consciousness, it represents the only tangible evidence we have of our existence. Through our feelings about it, and our use of it, we define and express our personal identity. We feed it, train it, worry about it, suffer over it, adorn it with clothes, decorate it with ornaments, revel in its sensations, and marvel at its intricacy and beauty."

--- Priscilla Kapel

Snacking on Goldfish and watching this extra solar planet documentary.

Chris stops by to check out the new place—battling out in foosball and watching Musicplayer video footage from our last show at The Taphouse.

Eating Persian Cucumbers and Sweet Peppers with Ranch.

Carmen’s lies down atop the washer and dryer reading Animorphs, blending really well into the background of the room.

Anthony, being rambunctious as usual, knocks over boxes in the hallway. James compares Anthony to a cat in that they freak themselves out after doing something disastrous.

The queen shows up and persuades all of us to go to Kmart. While there, Anthony picks up a huge bag of rice, the bulk size, and tosses it up and down in the air, then of course breaks the bag making a hole, rice falling out everywhere.

Waiting at the checkout line—looking at Margot in her Harpoon Larry’s outfit: tight fitting orange t-shirt and black shorts. Gosh she looks so good. Those legs accentuated—a legitimate thing of beauty.

Pita and Hummus.

The Friend’s School around the corner had its prom tonight. Rachel and a few other people show up at the house. Anthony and I perform “The Paper Man” rap (full version) to the crowd, almost flawlessly.

Walking Margot out to her car. We get into a bouncy conversation about this and that, partly brought up on my end.

Her: “I feel like you’re just too focused all the time.”

Me: “Yeah I want to focus…but I’ve got all these people and distractions around me seeking my attention. And like, living with other people, it’s hard sometimes. But I know I need the community.”

Her: “Maybe you’d be better off without a girlfriend.”

Me: “Yeah but I have no choice in the matter because I love you.”

Her: “I feel like I worked hard for that.”

Me: “Yeah you did.”

Newspaper route—Calum drives the yellow Mercedes from the 80’s. This will be my last newspaper route—passing on the torch to Calum. Reciting the “The Paper Man” rap and teaching him the rhymes.

My little green tree frog friend appears again at the Rehab Center box. Calum discovers him on the ground by our feet—the frog jumps up on my pant leg then onto my arm. How appropriate. It’s as if he knew this would be my last time and he’s saying goodbye.

Stop at 7-11—I encourage Calum to try the blueberry donut. The addiction to them I also pass on. Eating a Blueberry Muffin with Iced Coffee.

The closer we get to the end of the route the sadder I feel. I mean, I’ve been doing this thing every day since January. I’ve become attached to this routine of just me and the lonely night, my coffee or milk and donut or muffin, and Coast to Coast radio. I’ve done a lot of thinking on these roads, sorted out many problems in my head, and philosophized. During my time here I’ve went through quite a few changes: got a new car, moved into a new place, experienced a stage of immense rejection (romantic issues). Through it all the papers would still come and go—the news never stopped. It’s strange this sense of loss. I guess I’m free now.

DREAM: I’ve started working at Sonic again. It’s 5:30 in the morning and it’s understood that I’m late opening. Fumbling in the kitchen trying to set up everything. Orders from customers start popping up on the monitors already—I don’t recognize some of the items. More employees show up. Talking with Steve, one of the managers I used to work with years ago. “Yeah the dishes weren’t clean and stuff isn’t set up.” He seems annoyed that I’m criticizing that because he was the one that closed the night before. I begin cooking the bacon—pulling out the greasy strips and placing each strip on the grill—it cooks fast. I accidently wipe my mouth on some of the raw bacon, hopefully no one noticed. Joey randomly appears and asks what I’m doing today. “Well, I’m working all day!” I respond. He asks, “Can I come back and recite to you this bit from a Cookie Monster piece?” “Yes, of course.”

James brings over gifts of wine and some leftover dinner he cooked for his parents. Cooking that up—Chad comes over—haven’t seen him in quite a while—explaining how eager I am to play music.

Dinner: Spinach Salad. Chicken Alfredo Fettucini with Orange Peppers.

Sitting down at the card table with Chad and James. There’s a handful of extra people here at the house hanging out.

Sipping on Smoking Loon red wine, which has a strong smoky taste to it.

Listening to Erin Gilroy talk about her life as I ask questions like a counselor or psychologist—being accepted by friends—casual sex VS relationship/love sex. Chad’s picking apart a cork to one of the wine bottles.

Erin: “Things that are important to me aren’t important to most people.”

Denali Caramel Caribou Ice Cream.

In the living room—feeling a little tipsy from the smoky wine—jamming a folk progression on guitar—Anthony chiming along on an Ovation—Jordan pulls out his 12-string.

Google work.

Fascinated with the smoke bubbles Devon is blowing on the back patio.

The kids went dumpster diving but only Josh returned.

Chowing down on some Challah Bread.

Newspaper route with Calum—he’s focusing on writing down directions and notes in his composition notebook.

Sipping on Iced Chai Coffee.

A raccoon crosses VB Blvd just in time for me to run over him. THUMP! Unfortunately, he doesn’t survive. “Man, if only I had took just a little bit more time or less time at that last box I probably wouldn’t have hit him.”

Later on we catch a fox leap across a neighborhood road in front of us and scurry safely into someone’s backyard.

Recalling my past experiences with raccoons…“Saturday March 5 2011…Driving in the Bay Colony area, which is her neighborhood. I spot a dead raccoon curled up in the middle of the road. Oh the symbolism. I am that tragic raccoon, lifeless. And she’s the fortunate fox still prowling around, full of life….” “Sunday March 6 2011…As I’m driving down Lynnhaven Parkway, I watch a scurrying raccoon safely make it across the street and into the woods. Oh the symbolism, I am that fortunate raccoon still prowling around, full of life. The fox isn’t the only victorious one.” It was a horrible feeling to run over that raccoon tonight. If that raccoon was me and this is a foreshadowing, then I will be responsible for my own poetic death, not the feminine fox.

Back home—organizing and cleaning the dumpster food—Carmen’s making an egg sandwich—Anthony’s being playful, throwing the big orange kickball at me.